


Talking Nonsense

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster, with powers unfathomable, gets Loki drunk.





	Talking Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous: Hi if your still taking request for frostmaster if not don't worry ☺ Loki getting a little too drunk and maybe the Grandmaster has to escort/carry him back to his room. While Loki talks nonsense.

Much of Sakaar had been full to the brim with unexpected delights: a planet of trash, sex and chemical delights, Loki had believed he would be rather ill-suited to its primary factors. Gone is the revelry of his youth upon Midgard, loved and desired by his devotees, made drunk by _their_ drunkenness, made heady by their headiness: Loki is a lonely god, now, and his Jötunn body digests alcohol at much too fast a rate for the alcohol of most planets to have an effect on him.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?”

“Grandmaster,” Loki says mildly. It is his fourth day on this strange planet, and this is the third time he has crossed paths with the Grandmaster, the odd ruler of this planet… The man exudes a chaotic energy Loki is forced to admire and respect, and it’s a heavy enough energy that Loki is cautious of him based on the power alone, let alone the man’s apparent capacity for public execution at the drop of a hat.

“Seen you at a few parties now,” the Grandmaster says, his fingers creeping across the bar toward Loki’s sleeve. “You never have a drink in your hands.”

“Alcohol doesn’t have much of an effect on me, my friend,” Loki says, giving a slow nod of his head. “I haven’t been drunk in quite some time.”

“ _Oh_ ,” the Grandmaster says, his fingers ceasing their creep, and he puts his hand on his chest, over his heart— _Perhaps_ over his heart, anyway. Loki would have to tear him open to be certain. “I was worried you were one of those, aha, _temperate_ types.” The Grandmaster seems genuinely relived, and within half a beat, he has closed the difference between himself and Loki: he hadn’t even bothered to _move_ , instead phasing the half a foot’s worth of distance so that the two of them are but an inch apart, their noses nearly touching as the Grandmaster looks _down_ into Loki’s face. It’s an easy display of power, thrown with a casual air, and it makes Loki’s breath catch in his throat. “What kinda drink do you like? When you _do_ drink?”

“Ah…” The Grandmaster’s fingers are touching against Loki’s sternum, creeping up toward his neck, and Loki feels his skin _tingle_ with the power he exudes, feels his stomach flip within him.

“Why don’t you choose for me?” Loki asks, and the Grandmaster _smiles_ , shark-like. It’s incredibly enticing, and when the Grandmaster reaches for his mouth, Loki lets him. Feels the Grandmaster’s fingers press on either side of his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and then the Grandmaster is peering at Loki’s _tongue_.

“Say _ah_ ,” the Grandmaster says mildly.

“ _Ah_ ,” Loki obeys, drawing out the sound, and the Grandmaster hums, thoughtfully.

“Don’t like sweets, huh? That’s pretty weird.”

“I’ve never liked them,” Loki murmurs. He wonders if this is truly something the Grandmaster needs to examine his tongue for, or if he’s using some sort of physiological examination with his magic – there’s undoubtedly power radiating from the Grandmaster and thrumming through Loki’s very bones, but whether it is exploring him or not, Loki doesn’t know.

“I have just the thing for you,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and a tall glass is pressed into his hand by a faceless barman, then Loki feels the cool glass against his lips, takes a sip. _Oh!_ Oh! What sharpness! What acid bitterness as the ale flows over his tongue, as he swallows – and the Grandmaster is tipping the glass up, his other hand still gripping Loki’s jaw, and so Loki must drink, must drink, must _drink_ , until the glass is finished, and Loki is gasping. “You’re gonna get _so_ drunk.”

“Are you going to take advantage of me?” Loki asks, lightly, and the Grandmaster laughs, his teeth showing in gleaming white.

“Not tonight, pretty boy,” the Grandmaster says, and he presses another glass into Loki’s hand.

\--

Loki is laughing. He has been laughing for quite some time, sprawled as he is with the world spinning about him in glorious technicolour, and there are hands on his back and against the backs of his knees, and those hands are so _warm_. Loki reaches up for the face attached to those hands, and he leans in closer to the body that clutches at him, carrying him easily.

“You shouldn’t be able to do this,” Loki mumbles. The words are difficult to force out of his mouth, and if they come out in a jumble, he cannot tell: his silver tongue is heavy with drink, and his head is spinning.

“Shouldn’t I? How come?”

“I’m too heavy,” Loki says, aware and embarrassed of the whine in his voice and unable to dial it back. His hands clumsily touch against the Grandmaster’s chest, feeling at the fastenings of his robe, and then he presses his head into the Grandmaster’s shoulder, doing his best to all but _burrow_ against the crook of his neck. Even will his dulled senses, Loki hears the beat of a powerful heart… “Ah. I got you.”

“What’s that, Kiki?”

“Loki,” Loki says. “Has your heart.” And Loki’s hand is on the left side of the Grandmaster’s body, about halfway down his torso, squeezing the flesh and feeling the pulse where it is at its heaviest. There is something far away about the Grandmaster’s short sigh and quiet laugh, and then Loki is falling, falling, onto a soft sheet and silken mattresses— Wait, no… “Come back.”

“I’m right here,” the Grandmaster murmurs, his breath hot against Loki’s ear, and Loki giggles, sprawling out upon the pleasant coolness of the bed, all-encompassing as much as the Grandmaster’s thrumming power. “Think I gave you a little too much to drink.”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Touch me?”

“I’m touching you right now. We’re holding hands.”

“ _Really_?” Loki says, and he stares down at the fingers of his left hands, which are entwined between the darker fingers of the Grandmaster’s, his palm smooth and his skin heated under Loki’s loose grip. “By the stars. So we are. Ha.” The Grandmaster’s lips are quirked up into a warm smile that Loki hopes he will remember, his golden eyes far away. “I’m so tired.”

“Go to sleep, then,” the Grandmaster whispers.

“You won’t take advantage of me?” Loki asks, hopefully, and the Grandmaster’s laugh is low and resonant, thrumming in Loki’s rib cage and bouncing off the blurry, spinning walls of the room around them.

“Go to sleep,” he orders, and Loki feels like he is floating on waves as his eyes droop slowly closed.

\--

Loki wakes alone in his quarters, a splitting headache cleaving open his very skull, and he groans, softly. Embarrassment settles onto his skin like a winter cloak, and then a hand touches through his black hair, soothing away the sudden aching head and dryness of mouth with just that touch.

“Go back to sleep,” whispers a heady voice, low and resonant, steeped in honey.

And Loki does.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to just write some more Marvel fics in general, so if you have any requests, check out [my Tumblr here](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com), and feel free to send any requests you have in!


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